


All Is You

by Monsterunderkilt



Series: The Manse [21]
Category: Actor RPF, Celebrities - Fandom, RPF - Fandom, Real Person Fanfic - Fandom, Real Person Fiction
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:00:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27072373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monsterunderkilt/pseuds/Monsterunderkilt
Summary: I shamelessly fawn over Sir Ken’s latest Shakespeare film
Series: The Manse [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1209447
Kudos: 1





	All Is You

_“I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,_

_Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,_

_Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,_

_With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine:_

_There sleeps Titania sometime of the night,_

_Lull'd in these flowers with dances and delight..._

_And you know the rest...”_

_“And there the snake throws her enamell'd skin,_

_Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in”_

And I am crying for the forth time. Seeing Dame Judi and Sir Ken hugging and giggling over lines of Shakespeare is just filling up my little heart with the warmth of an entire keg of port. I’m wrapped in a fuzzy Bob Ross blanket, watching All Is True in the living room all by myself, by candlelight of course, just like the film. The next scene shows my boyfriend Shakespeare’s coffin and his family all gathered in the church. Anne, Judith, and Susanna read from a paper and I Immediately cry all over again.

_“Fear no more the heat o' the sun,_

_Nor the furious winter's rages;_

_Thou thy worldly task hast done,_

_Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages:_

_Golden lads and girls all must,_

_As chimney-sweepers, come to dust...”_

“Oh my God, Ken, you just hit me with Cymbeline like that are you kidding holy shit!” I say out loud through my tear-soaked grin. I take a deep breath and wipe my eyes, ugly sobbing. “Will Shakespeare! Kenny! Holy shiiiiiiiiiit! You guys! That is sooooo.... UGH so affecting and beautiful shut up.”

As the film ends, the titles scroll and an angelic voice sings the _Cymbeline_ elegy again, and I am reminded of _Much Ado_ and all that singing, and when I see Patrick Doyle did the score, I am reminded of _Henry V_ and _Hamlet_ and just about everything else.

“Dost thou approve, Madam?”

I turn my head around to see Ken peeking around the corner of the doorway leading to the hall. He bites his lower lipless lip.

“Oh Ken,” I say breathlessly. “Ken, Ken, Ken... you put your very soul into this.” I raise my arms and hold them wide. “Sweetheart!”

Ken smiles and steps forward, and we squeeze the life out of each other. I nestle my face against his shoulder and sniffle some more, only a little afraid of ruining his cashmere sweater.

“Everyone was wonderful in it, Sir. A true meeting of the nerds.”

Ken rubs my back and kisses my hair. “Yeah well, those two know far more than I do.”

“Dame Judi and Sir Ian?”

“Oh hell, they could whoop me in Shakespeare-off for sure. They are total geeks.”

I stand up on the couch cushion and hug Ken’s neck while he wraps his arms around my middle. I kiss his forehead. “It was a joy to see the three of you together.”

“But you cried so much, Cait.”

“Of course I did! It was overwhelmingly elegiac, I thought you might’ve made this movie because you knew you were dying and you wanted to go out on a memorable Bard note with your nerd friends.”

“Bloody hell, am I dying?”

“Not that I’m aware.”

“I think I’m OK.”

“Good. Keep making movies forever. Don’t throw your book into the sea just yet.”

He shakes his head. “I promise I won’t.”

I jump over the back of the sofa and give him a proper hug. “I loved that John Martinesque shot at the start. Fucking brilliant.”

“I knew you’d like that.”

“And filming with only candlelight like in Barry Lyndon... you know how I think everyone should see Barry Lyndon.”

“You’re an irrepressible film snob, my dear,” Ken says, shaking his finger at me. But then he smiles and that finger morphs into a thumbs up. “But you just ride that train to the end. Life’s not worth living without passion.”

I nod and blush. “I know I am, and honestly, for a while, I fought it because snobbery can be intolerable. But fuck that. I’m not a snob for the sake of being one; I’m a snob because I give all the shits about film art. And I want to be as honestly earnest as you some day. I respect the hell out of that. Thank you so much for everything ever.”

He chuckles. “Well, I certainly can’t take credit for everything. I’m sure God or whatever had some part in creating the world.”

I kiss him and hug him some more, still feeling tears squeeze out of the corners of my eyes. I am suddenly fixated on the need to do a whole write-up on this superb movie and I resist the urge to scurry upstairs and start on the inevitable blog post. I take a minute of Ken’s uninterrupted embrace to acknowledge the sensation of artistic orgasm flowing over me. That ineffable moment when the electric shock from provocation of the mind flows down into your heart and expression through your God-given creative outlet is the only thing and everything. A special species of anxiety that tickles the cockles in your chest and heats your face despite yourself. After that, sex seems trite.

“Trite?” Sir asks, hearing my thoughts.

I pull away a little see his frown. I reach up and massage his shoulders. “Oh, Ken, you know what I mean. You’ve experienced flow a few times in your life.”

“A few times?” he repeats.

I wink at him and grab his hand, leading him out of the room. “Come, Sir. What I want to do to you right now isn’t trite.”


End file.
